About Bloody Time
by C.G. Irvin
Summary: The War was won two years ago, and the Trio live happily ever after, sharing a cottage together in a quaint little village. But when Ron notices Harry and Hermione acting strangely, how will he react? AU, H/HR, just a little plot-bunny inspired one-shot I had to get out. I don't have a beta-reader, so beware, but reviews are greatly appreciated!


Ron hummed to himself as he made his way up the meandering path to the quaint little cottage he shared with Harry and Hermione, shifting the groceries he carried in his arms a bit as he fumbled around in his coat for his wand, grinning triumphantly as he found it. He supported the bags with his forearm as he did an odd little side-step with hand outstretched to tap the wand against the door, muttering under his breath. The multitudinous wards protecting the house, recognizing the wand and its owner, deactivated long enough for Ron to open the door with said wand (not with magic, though - he used it as a lever) and kick it closed behind him.  
"Oy! Anyone home? 'm back, need help puttin' the food away!" he called out to the empty hallway, trusting his voice to carry throughout the house. Ronald Weasley, after all, was a man of many talents - one of which being a voice that, when raised, was only slightly louder than a Howler.

He received his answer as he made his way down the tastefully decorated (thanks to Hermione) hallway, hooking a left into the large, well-organized (thanks to Hermione) kitchen, to find his two best-mates, the other points of the Golden Trio, the...well, he found Harry and Hermione. Hermione was scrubbing a counter with a determination she usually reserved for scolding Ron, which might have struck him as odd, had he noticed that she was actually scrubbing a clean counter. Harry, for his part, was incredibly interested with the sleeve of his shirt, and neither of them said a thing as Ron walked in.

Ron, observant as always, didn't catch a thing, instead moving to place the groceries down on the island with a sigh of relief. He began to take the food out of the bags, and Harry and Hermione took to the task of putting the food away with great gusto. Ron, being his usual attentive self, didn't see anything peculiar with their actions, and began to regale them with the tale of his outing.  
"Blimey, it's good to be back. The woman doin' the groceries was about as barmy as my dear old aunt - about as old, too. Thought I'd be there forever. I mean, Harry, I ask you, how long does it take to skim the items -."  
"Scan, Ronald."  
"Thank you, 'mione - _scan _the items? Is the answer a minute per item, with extra time alloted for naps? Because, bloody hell, mate, I was afraid I might die of old age waitin' in line. It's not like it can be all that hard, can it? Then again, when you're old enough to've been Albus Dumbledore's wetnurse, well, I guess it might seem well and good to take your time, but _some _of us have lives, y'know? And so I say to her, I tell her -."

This went on for some time, Harry and Hermione allowing it to run its course. They weren't ignoring him, not really - they made the right attentive noises, and Harry even made a few quips of his own. But the entire time, they were having one of _those _conversations over Ron's shoulders, situated as they were on either side of the tall redhead. It was frantic, and nervous, and generally gone about with an air, '_What do we do?_'

For it would be only a matter of time until Ron noticed that, in their haste, Harry and Hermione, who had been engaged in a rather heated snog, had put on the wrong shirts - this is, Harry was wearing Hermione's long-sleeved, dark green pullover, and Hermione was wearing one of Harry's polos. It was, indeed, a desparate situation. While Harry and Hermione loved Ron, truly did, they had been seeing each other in secret for the past two months now, and they weren't ready to break the news to him - mostly out of fear of his reaction. Ron and Hermione had dallied a bit after the War, though after a few months it was decided (rather amiably on both sides) that they worked better as Just Friends. Still, the second youngest Weasely was known for having a bit of temper, and it was a decidedly...precarious situation.

Ron's winding tale was coming to a close, and the last words left his mouth just as the last of the groceries had been put away, and he turned just in time to see Harry and Hermione about to leave out of the two separate exits of the kitchen. Something must have been in the air, or maybe it was just that everyone has their moments, but Ron called out incredulously, "'ey, you two...are you wearing each other's shirts?"

They were caught. Harry and Hermione's eyes met with equal parts desparation and resignation.  
"Ron...we can explain," Harry began. Hermione, for her part, remained silent, the usually verbose witch at an uncharacteristic loss for words.

Ron watched the two of them as they walked to stand next to each other, across the island from him, and he opened a bag of crisps, crunching on them with an oddly unreadable expression on his face, pale blue eyes slightly narrowed as he looked back and forth between them. "Go on, then. 'm listenin'."  
"Well, you see Ron...the thing is, we...that is, Hermione and I...bollocks, this is hard. Uhm," Harry stuttered, looking everywhere but at Ron.  
"What Harry is trying to tell you, Ronald, is that we - Harry and I - were...we were...," Hermione took a deep breath, clenched her eyes shut, and finished lamely, "...snogging."

The silence that followed would have made a librarian blush. Harry was studying one of the kitchen chairs as though he was seriously considering picking up carpentry, and Hermione had kept her eyes shut.

And then Ron shoved a handful of crisps into his mouth, chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then nodded. "Thought so. About bloody well time. Thought you two'd never get around to it."

Harry's brilliant green eyes snapped to Ron, mouth agape, and Hermione's own brown eyes snapped open as she let out a gasp of surprise.  
"You...," she began slowly, carefully. "You mean you're not upset?"  
"What, because you'n I tried it out after You-Know-Who got his arse kicked? Dunno if my mem'ry's suddenly better'n yours, 'mione, but I seem to recall that not workin' out too well," Ron replied dryly, waving away the shocked looks on their faces with a hand filled with another handful of crisps. "'sides, you two've been arse-over-tits for each other for ages, now. Surprised it took so long, really." He paused, then, and his gaze became suspicious. "Just snoggin' though, right? You two weren't shaggin', were you?"  
"Wha - what? No, no! We uh...we haven't gotten there yet," Harry managed to choke out, relief and embarrassment fighting a war for emotional dominance within him.  
"Good. This is my house too, y'know. I don't want to have to worry about where I set down my food, yeah?"

Hermione glowered, a dark red blush staining her cheeks, and she threw a crisp that had fallen from Ron's hand at him, the fried bit of potato attaching itself to the wooly sweater he was wearing, and muttered darkly, though with perhaps a bit of embarrased amusement, "You're a prat, Ron."

He grinned cheekily at her, plucking the crisp from his shirt and putting it into his mouth with a rather smug expression on his freckled face. "Yes, well, we all already knew that, didn't we? Anyway, I s'ppose that now that that's all in the open and whatnot, I'll pop on over to the Burrow for a bit, give you two some..._privacy._ Maybe stop by and say hi to Luna. I think she's a little besotted with me, and you know how I feel about blondes, Harry." He waggled his flaming-red eyebrows lasciviously, making his way over to the doorframe that led out to the entry hall, stopping for a moment to turn and look at Harry with a decidedly serious expression on his face.  
"Oh, and Harry?"

Harry, still processing everything that had just happened, turned to look at Ron with a slightly-tired smile. "Yeah, Ron?"  
"That shirt really brings out the color in your eyes."  
"You're a git, Ron."


End file.
